


Weatherizing

by red_as_ever



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Churchington, M/M, winter sports AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:38:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_as_ever/pseuds/red_as_ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blue team is out for some winter funtimes. Church gets cold easily. Wash does not. Winter sports AU; Churchington.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weatherizing

Caboose has begged all morning to go sledding. While Church has every intention of staying inside and reading, Wash and Tucker slog through the snow to get the sleds from the shed. Overruled.

“You’ll be fine,” Wash tells him. “It’s not that cold out there.”  
Church isn’t reassured. “You’re like a walking furnace,” he says.

Laughing, Wash stomps snow from the treads of his boots. “I’m serious. It’s pretty warm out there.”

Church almost points out that, if he’s so hot, he can always unzip the vents that run the length of his snow pants. That will cool him down fast. But he really doesn’t want to say something about Wash’s pants, not with Tucker in earshot.

“We can even go get hot chocolate and desserts after,” Wash adds.

Well, now he’s going to let down Caboose and Wash if he refuses to go. (He will not admit to being bribed by sweets.) Sighing, Church heads to his room to put on his snow gear.

Wash has already picked out a place to sled: across the road from their cabin, snow blankets the rolling slopes. Someone has already tramped out a trail toward the ridge. The snow only comes to Tucker’s knees, so making their own trail wouldn’t have been bad. Still, Church is grateful that he doesn’t have to put in that extra effort, no matter how warm it would make him.

Caboose goes running up the first switchback, sled dragging behind him. “It’s so fluffy!” he shouts, kicking clouds of powder snow into the air. When the trail doubles back, he must decide that he’s gone far enough because he plops the sled down and jumps on it. Nothing happens.

“Hang on, big guy,” Tucker says. “Let me help.” He pushes Caboose forward. The sled creaks along the snow before it’s off like a shot. Tucker stumbles forward, almost landing on his face.

“Want to give it a try?” Wash asks. Church looks from the snow to the sled and back.

“I—“

“Come on,” Wash says. He sets the sled down in the track Caboose made earlier. “We can ride together.”

He can’t say no to that, even when Wash insists that he sit in front. “Don’t drop the rope,” Wash tells him.

“But I don’t know how to steer!”

“It’s not for steering,” he says. “It’s for towing. But it’ll slow us down if it gets stuck under the sled.” He climbs on behind Church, who is very aware of the other man’s legs pressing against him on either side.

“Ready?”

Before Church can answer, the sled lurches forward, pushing Wash into him. He hears laughter behind them; Tucker must have shoved them. The sled hangs in the air for the space of a breath, then plunges down the slope. Snow rises in plumes around them, first at their ankles, then their knees, then in their faces and over their heads. Church squints against the flakes and the sunlight reflecting off them. Mesmerized, he forgets to complain. He even laughs. Wash’s knees press tighter against his sides, and he hears him laughing, too.

The spray subsides. Their sled drags to a stop. Church’s laughter fades, but he’s still smiling. He leans forward off of the sled, then turns toward Wash.

“See?” he asks. “Not so bad.”

“No,” Church admits, though his face is pressed down against his scarf. Laughing, Wash wipes the snow from his eyebrows.

Not so bad after all.

An hour later, Caboose is exhausted from running up the hill so many times and Church’s fingers are half-frozen despite his heavy gloves. Time to cash in on Wash’s bribe.

They haul the sleds back across the street and stack them on the porch. Wash goes inside just long enough to get the keys to the pickup truck. Tucker and Caboose climb in the bed; Church takes the passenger seat. He keeps his fingers pressed to the heater the whole way to the restaurant down the street. Never mind that the truck hasn’t warmed up. He’s desperate.

The whole world must have their same idea because the waiter drops them at a table without even asking what they want to drink. Church is about to shove his hands in his armpits to warm them up, no matter how loudly Tucker will make fun of him. Wash’s hands are busy: one holds the menu while the other holds his cup. That’s not an option.

So maybe he reaches down and teases open the vent on the side of Wash’s snow pants. Wash is so warm, even through the waterproof shell, that Church can feel it already. He smiles despite himself and teases the zipper open further.

“Church!” Okay, Wash isn’t as pleased with this plan as Church is. His voice is doing that ridiculous squeaking thing. “Don’t do that, I’m only wearing boxers under there!” A blush flares across his face, brightening his freckles.

“I’m not—it’s just a vent!” Church insists. Tucker has already fallen off his chair laughing.

“Next time, just say something if your hands are cold.” Wash puts down his drink and the menu so he can take Church’s hands in his. Rough fingers rub warmth into his hands, teasing circulation back to life.

Church doesn’t feel particularly sorry, though. “Only boxers, Wash?”

“Shut up.”


End file.
